John K. McCulloch, Champion Skater

John K. "Jack" McCulloch

Jack McCulloch came to Pembina to put on an exhibition skating, the year he turned professional.  It was the year after he won the World Amateur Speed Skating championship in Montreal, Quebec. 

 




Jack was a local and regional sports celebrity, followed by many in the four corners (and far beyond...) It was an exciting event for him to visit and put on a demonstration, and even race locals!  Pembina residents made sure everything was ready, especially the skating rink...

McCulloch visited Pembina on January 5, 1899.
[Source:  Pembina Express, December 29, 1898]

Pembina  is one of four towns known as the corners.  Of these four towns Pembina is in Dakota, St. Vincent in Minnesota, and West Lynne and Emerson in Manitoba.  Emerson and St. Vincent lie on the right bank and the other two on the left bank of the Red River.  A favorite evening drive is to make the circuit of the four corners crossing the bridge between Emerson and West Lynne and the ferry between St. Vincent and Pembina.

Sociability Run: Jefferson Highway

[Note — General Manager McDougal of the Pershing Way [Association], who was for a short time Publicity Commissioner of the Jefferson Highway,  admits that he appropriated from the Jefferson many of the successful methods he is using on the Pershing. He also admits they are pretty good. 

We likewise are going to appropriate the story of his trip to Winnipeg, and in doing so likewise admit it is pretty good. That Manager [Herbert F.] McDougal has a microscopic eye, a retentive memory and a happy way of telling it is evidenced by what he saw and tells of his trip. 

Judging from his experience at the "Line", he should have borrowed the Jefferson's Rabbit Foot. 

Mr. McDougal's story will be read, with interest by the J. H. family, especially those who "made the trip" last July.  The following is an excerpt about the final leg of the run...]

AT Hallock the P. W. runs onto the Jefferson Highway marks and continues with them the rest of the way, going through Northcote, Humboldt, St. Vincent and Noyes to the International Boundary.

The Jefferson Highway touring group paused their sociability run 
in Emerson for "short" speeches and this group photograph...

Pro-lemonaders made another hit when Bronson was reached, where "most excellent lemonade was served" by the ladies. Decorations were mainly American and Canadian flags. Mayors Hodgson and Behrman spoke. The hotel menu at Hallock, a noon control, was a novelty, and uniquely distinctive over any other during the entire trip. Part of it was in French, and embraced dishes served especially in New Orleans. Banners and flags formed the principal decorative feature. Luncheon was served at the hotel and restaurants in the city. The Custom Houses of Noyes and Emerson were soon passed, owing to arrangements having been made beforehand. Short speeches were made by Governor Pleasant and Mayor Hodgson at Emerson.¹

We had been sweeping along across the prairie, much of the time with no fences along the road, and came to a turn to the east along what, as memory recalls it, looked like the back side of a farm yard with perhaps an orchard bordered with forest trees in a sort of a scrubby growth. Straight ahead and eighty rods beyond was a dingy railroad station, and just before we reached it a turn to the right and north.

Before us loomed a signboard, high on stilts, announcing the "International Boundary," and there was a moment of bewilderment as we saw in one direction a road turning off to the station and in the other a pair of ruts curving around as entering the farm yard.

The original routing of the Jefferson Highway entered Canada directly from Noyes,
Minnesota into Emerson, Manitoba, Canada.   This is the approximate route the JH
followed. [Source:  Two Lane Traveler] NOTE:  The red line leading off 171 going
north was the 'Emerson Road' (dirt when I was growing up, now plowed under...)  

Over this seeming by-road was the remains of an arch¹, placed there last July to welcome the Jefferson Highway tourists on their great sociability run, and the presence of the arch gave rise to the theory that this must be the entrance to the Dominion. Pursuing the tracks a bit further we were convinced that we really were on the highway into the neighboring nation, for at the side of the road was a glorified Keep Off the Grass Sign, bearing a solemn warning against going across the line without proper formalities.

The road took another turn and crossed a railroad track, which itself had crossed another track just previously. The one was the Soo, which ran along the margin of Canada, and the other was the Canadian Pacific, both heading for Winnipeg. All our pictures of an imposing entrance into Canada were dashed, as almost any country cross road is as pretentious. But still there was something picturesque about it and something that impressed itself upon the memory.

There are two railroad stations — one on the American side and one across in Canada, and at each immigration and customs officials, representing the two governments, are on guard. It looked as if it was a pretty simple thing, after all, getting into a foreign country, but it took just about an hour to do it, for a becapped official, swinging down the track to reach the switch tower and climb its dizzy steps to the bird-like house above, said that there was nothing to do but to report to the officials at the Emerson station, which took time and proved not to be the right thing, for we were first to go a mile or such a matter up town and be interviewed by the immigration official and get a card and then go across the street to where the Union Jack flew over the government building, and make our clearance at the customs office.

THE customs officials were polite, but inquisitive. They wanted to know how many in the party, what make of car, how many cylinders, its license number and factory number, whether it was equipped with windshield, top, speedometer and clock, and how much it cost, what baggage we carried and whether we had any camping equipment and how long we expected to tarry in Winnipeg.

Then a very nice old gentleman came down and rummaged through our suit cases in a formal and perfunctory way, withal rather thorough. But first there had come up the serious question as to the very typewriter on which this is being written. It is one of the folding sort and a constant companion. The G. M. would be lost without it, and the work of the organization would be hampered. It was rather important that it, too, make the trip into Winnipeg, for there would be the matter of correspondence and perhaps some magazine stuff.

But the officials were stern about it. They said that the wee machine was dutiable and that we had better put it in hock, so to speak, at the customs office to be picked up on our return, and to borrow a machine in Winnipeg. It looked as if the typewriter was to part company with the official car.

But the missus, waiting all this time down in the auto, said it didn't sound reasonable to her that a car and all that luggage could go in and a mere typewriter barred.

So we went back and argued that the typewriter was a tool of the trade and analogous to a monkey wrench in the tool box.

But these English are a fixed folk. They all had a look at the proposition, and turned it down; it wasn't regular. Then we offered to put up a cash bond, and finally succeeded in parting with $13 to that end, the money being in good American currency. Seeing the brand of money on deposit, a kind gentleman in the office suggested that we would be entitled to that sort back, as it was at a premium in Canada. So, on our return, we got $13.40 in Canadian currency, taking it across to the bank to be exchanged for American money. The rate of exchange had fluctuated during the walk across the street, however, and the bank demanded 50 cents instead of the 40 we had been paid.

And even at that we afterward discovered that we had a few Canadian bills in our script and had to give a discount on them.

BUT our troubles were not over yet. We discovered that our Canadian immigration permit, nor our clearance papers from the customs were sufficient; the becapped gentleman had deceived us. We had to go all the way back to the American side, to that little station of Noyes, to see a blue-eyed Irishman named Fahey in order to get a formidable document showing that Uncle Sam was willing to relinquish us for a few days.

That document had to be turned in to the Canadian customs officials, and then we were ready to go — all excepting the changing of a flat tire that had grown discouraged and depressed during all this formality. If we had known about the rest of that night that tire would have worried us.

But let us move on.

Over a bridge, combined wagon and railroad, under a viaduct we turned and then we were on the road to Winnipeg, sure enough. A little further and we were as good as in France, for, turning into a little village that proved to be Letellier, we grew uncertain of the way and stopped at a house to make inquiries if this were truly the way to Winnipeg.

The answer was "Oui, oui," which the doughboys all will recognize at once.

Turning just at the edge of that little village, which was mostly edge, we were at once in the old Hudson Bay Company's trail, a road 132 feet wide that goes in windings along the Red River of the North right into Winnipeg and becomes Main street, remaining 132 feet wide. That and Portage avenue, at right angles and of the same width, are boasted the widest streets in the world.

The boundary is sixty-eight miles from Winnipeg, and all the tedious details at Emerson, had taken time. It was 5 o'clock when we left Emerson, and that was Canadian time, the Canadians not having turned their watches ahead as the States had.

So we rather stepped forward a little on the gas, for there was a certain strangeness about the country that urged us to get along before dark covered the unknown roads. The trail at places was little more than sections of a fenced pasture, with ruts winding about between an endless row of telephone and telegraph poles. Winnipeg is paving out for miles and someday will have a concrete road to the border, no doubt, but nature still holds sway largely as yet there.

Jefferson Highway Sociability Run, NOLA to Winnipeg
L'Observateur (Reserve, Louisiana) · 28 Jun 1919

And we came into St. Jean Baptiste, a French town of 500 with only two English families in it. We sought to replenish our gas supply and pulled up at a garage and said "Five gallons." The tank filled up as we filled with astonishment. The answer was that we were getting British Imperial gallons, 277.274 cubic inches to the gallon, instead of our own United States gallons of 231 cubic inches. Five of our British cousin's gallons made six of our own, but we paid 40 cents for each and every gallon. 

They said in Winnipeg that American watches can be bought cheaper there than in the states, the protective tariff making it thus, but there was nothing like that about the gasoline, even Imperial gallons. 

Hunger was gnawing and we decided to have a bite to eat, much as we hated to waste daylight. So we asked for the eating place and were directed to a little wooden building that plainly was labeled "Public Hotel." 

Entering we found a dingy office that was a combination of a barber shop and bar. Prohibition had put the bar out of business, age had done for the barber chair, and the prospect was discouraging. But that was where appearances were deceptive, for, after a brief delay, we were led into a neat little dining room and |served with a supper as only the French served food. Bright-eyed French girls were jabbering French in the kitchen, and one of them went to the telephone and assaulted it with a flow of language that was beyond us. 

Then a husky chap went up to the instrument and bawled out a question. "What's the score?" he demanded. It seemed that Cincinnati had won. We felt quite at home for a minute. 

WE had been inquiring anxiously about the road conditions, and the official car had attracted considerable attention, so supper done, we stepped out of the dining room into the midst of a curious crowd that wanted to talk. The men all agreed that the best road lay across the Red River, and they grinned as they said that the largest city along the way was Winnipeg. Afterward we came to realize the point of the remark. Only one village intervened in all that fifty miles. The rest of the trip lay through a country where a house was a surprise and bachelor shanties were the rule. Mile after mile was along a fence-less road that ran at will and at angles, but it was a good road, except lonesome. In the distance we could see straw stacks burning in various places, and occasionally we passed an automobile, but mostly there were solid banks of second growth white birches.

If we had ever needed a bit of gas or some air pressure we'd have had quite a walk for it. And there was that flat spare on the rack!

It sounds a bit dreary, just to tell about it. but it really was a wonderful drive, with the air balmy and the night pleasant. Occasionally we would wonder whether we were on the right road, and would stop at a house to make inquiries. Always we were, although sometimes the children had to be called up to translate, the parents being French.

The engine worked to perfection, the tires held out and we had had a good supper, so on we sped, over bridges, through woods, out in the open. Finally we came to that sole village, passed it, got out into the wilds again and wondered. Then there appeared one of the blessed concrete roads that Winnipeg has built out for nine miles, and we felt as if we were nearing the goal.

But the lights of Winnipeg didn't settle all of our troubles. There was the matter of a hotel. A motorman, waiting to catch his car, offered advice. It wasn't any good, for every hotel he mentioned was full for the night. Finally, after we had tried one after the other, we were forced to put up at one that always will haunt our memories and make as firm in favor of strict hotel inspection laws.

The next morning we found room in a comfortable one...
____________

¹ - "A very artistic arch-way had been erected at the border, but we had already been made to feel that we would be just as much at home in Canada as in Louisiana." [The Story of the Run, The Modern Highway, Vol 4, No. 7, August 1919, Pub. by the Jefferson Highway Association]

Hugh O'Lone & The Red Saloon

Hugh O'Lone, 1870

Kootenai Brown,1895

John George "Kootenai" Brown's reference to “Bob O'Lone” in his memoir, "I Remember" ... is interesting, for in the famous portrait of Louis Riel and his Council of 1869-70, early descriptions of the photo identified Bob O’Lone as the man seated in the front row to Riel’s right. This version of the photo was incorporated into the works of many of the early Red River historians such as R. G. MacBeth. This figure was later correctly identified by G. F. G. Stanley as Hugh Francis "Bob" O’Lone. He was in the whisky business; he was “the American who ran a saloon in Winnipeg.” This was apparently the Red Saloon, recalled by A. C. Garrioch: “Three years later when the writer moved to St. John’s he found the Red Saloon contributing very considerably to the business of the little village.” Bob O’Lone had continued in the liquor business and was the proprietor: “No spot in Winnipeg was so often the scene of a drunken row as that occupied by the Red Saloon.”




A common misconception about Hugh Francis O'Lone is that he was the brother of a saloon keeper named Robert O‘Lone. In fact Hugh WAS the saloon keeper - his nickname was "Bob", and he did not have a brother named Robert.

Early Winnipeg; O'Lone's saloon, aka the Red Saloon, in center...

During this time, Brown lived the kind of dangerous life that tended to be his trademark. He was captured by Sitting Bull and only his wits and luck removed him from this delicate situation. He finished his contract with the U.S. Army in the spring of 1869, and then moved to Fort Burfurd, further to the west, in response to the quickly consolidating American frontier. His task was to maintain communications between Fort Burford, Fort Stevenson, and Fort Totten near Devil’s Lake. It was during the course of a parallel scouting assignment for the U.S. Army, headed by Major General W. S. Hancock, that Brown found himself in Pembina on the Red River in the fall of 1869.

Customers in front of the Red Saloon owned by Bob O’Lone, Red River, 1869.
Source: Archives of Manitoba

O'Lone participated in the 16 November 1869 Convention of Twenty-four. He enlisted as a 2nd Lieut. in the Settlement guard under Ambroise-Dydime Lépine. He was an Honourable Member of the Legislative Assembly of Assiniobia in the same capacity. In February of 1871 a notice of Hugh‘s impending demise appeared in the Manitoba News-letter, owned by John C. Schultz, a declared enemy of everything to do with the Provisional Government:

Badly Hurt.—Hugh O‘Lone (better known here as Bob), a General in the rebel force of last winter, got into an altercation with some American half-breeds at Pembina, about a fort-night ago, and got so severely hurt on the head that the U.S. Post-Surgeon at Pembina, declined to perform the Surgical operation necessary to ensure recovery without assistance. There being no medical man nearer than Fort Garry, assistance was sought here, and Dr. Turver went on Monday evening and gave the patient the benefit of his professional skill. 

On 7 March 1871 the Saint Paul Daily Pioneer reported that Hugh F.  "Bob" Olone had been killed by a blow to the head from a revolver in early January. In the opinion of historians such as A.H. de Trémaudan and Ruth Swan, O'Lone‘s death was one of several assassinations meted out not by Métis, but by Canadian troops after their arrival in August of 1870, as retribution for the execution of Thomas Scott.

Bibliography:

 - “Kootenai” Brown in the Red River Valley" by Graham A. MacDonald, Manitoba History, Number 30, Autumn 1995) 

 - Hon. Hugh Francis Olone, Town of Winnipeg; Do Canadian History blog, 7 March 2011.

Frederick A. Bailey: An NWMP 'Original'

Sgt. Fred Bailey
[Source:  RCMP Veterans Association,
Vancouver Division]

Let me introduce you to an ordinary man who happened to make a bit of local history by just doing what many in his day did - living life, making choices, taking risks.  

"This I believe is the diary of Frederick Bagley when he enlisted in the North-West Mounted Police as a trumpeteer at 15 years of age; They left Fort Dufferin in 1874 to secure the Medicine Line!" 

- J. Rempel

I will be sharing portions of that diary here on this blog at a later time. But for now, let us learn a bit about Sub-Constable Fred Bagley, Trumpeteer ...

According to a fascinating online biography (which I quote here in-full since so many such pages seem to disappear):

Fred Bagley’s musical talents and leadership provided a major contribution to the Force and to the communities he served in.

With regarding setting records, he was first in the following areas: 

a) being the youngest member to be sworn into the Force; 

b) first Trumpeteer in the Force; 

c) present to guard and witness the first person to be hung in the North-West Territories at Fort Saskatchewan; and 

d) first member to lead a musical performance before Royalty.

Bobby Stewart Update: "Fearless"

Bobby Stewart aboard "Ocean Roar" in 1969 Kentucky Derby
[Credit: Assiniboia Downs Archives]

Bobby Stewart would be my pick for the best jockey to ever ride at Assiniboia Downs. - ASD History

High praise, but well deserved.

A recent blog post talks about Bobby Stewart's career, and it's amazing to realize he came from our area. But you never know who will rise above the rest, or where they may hail from.

Be sure to check out an earlier blog post about Bobby, and the honor bestowed in remembrance of him at the inauguration of the Bobby Stewart Memorial Stakes in 2010.

Line of Fire

Back in the day, just as now, lawmen worked together between Canada and America.  There was less red tape then, although that was there, too.  The excerpt below is about one of the early lawmen of our area, this time on the Canadian side of the 49th parallel.  He has been mentioned in passing before, in the story of Sheriff Charley Brown.  You could say he was Charley's counterpart over the line.

It's fun to learn more of his story, and the context.  We're very lucky to have this recounting - I have read that "virtually no documentation was preserved for the MPP"...

The North-West Mounted Police were not the only officers who made life difficult for bad men in the Canadian West. Even before the Mounties arrived on the prairies, the newly formed province of Manitoba organized a small, but effective, police force. The Manitoba Provincial Police began in 1870 with nineteen men. It was operated out of an old Winnipeg post office that was converted to a police station and courthouse. A log house behind the building was used for a jail. The force was poorly funded, so the officers had to provide their own firearms. They had no standard uniform. Within a few years, the department dwindled to a mere eight men. Some constables were dismissed for inappropriate behavior, such as public drunkenness, others resigned to seek better paying employment! 

In 1874, Richard Power, a twenty-three-year-old who had become an original member of the force at the age of nineteen, was made Head Constable - the equivalent of Chief of Police. The rapid decline in the force's number was only a part of the reason for this young man's promotion to such a position. Even before joining the MPP, he had allegedly served as a scout for the United States Cavalry. He was also a lieutenant in the Winnipeg militia. Power's contemporaries described him as "a fine looking man, magnificently proportioned, every inch a soldier with the courage that nothing could daunt. Power wore a Colt .45 with a nine-inch barrel, and a gunbelt that was always full of cartridges. Local newspapers called Power "a terror to evildoers." In A few short years, Power had shown himself to be a courageous and enthusiastic policeman. Some thought he might have been too enthusiastic. He had once been sharply reprimanded for shooting a Native during an arrest. 

By the time Power took command of the Manitoba Provincial Police, Winnipeg had been incorporated as a city and had its own police department. That left the rest of Manitoba under the eyes of Power and his tiny department. Power strategically placed men in the more populous settlements outside Winnipeg; towns like Selkirk and Kildonan. He kept a few men with him at his headquarters in Winnipeg. Most Manitoba communities had to depend on special constables - civilian volunteers - to keep the peace. If there was any real trouble, Power could send one of his constables out to see to the matter. The policing situation in rural Manitoba was not unlike that of rural Ontario and other points east. 

Manitoba, especially the country along the American border, was woefully under-policed, but the situation was same on the other side of the international line in the Dakota Territory. There was a sheriff in Pembina, just over the border, and another many miles away in Fargo. For those lawmen, just looking after their towns was a full-time job. They didn't have the resources, or manpower, to go chasing after the desperadoes who roamed the plains and hills of the Dakota country. Rustlers, gunmen, and other men on the dodge had only to keep out of the Sheriff's way to avoid arrest. With so much open country, that was not a hard thing to do. Moreover, American lawmen were often unwilling to apprehend fugitives wanted in Canada, unless there was a reward involved.

Gypsies Visit Humboldt

Gypsy Musicians

From Pat Miller Herzog via Mike Rustad:

Dad was at Letellier for something or other regarding Customs and heard this strange language that he had not heard before and it was a bunch of Romanian gypsies that had just moved there. Dad spoke 5 languages and this was not one of them so he was really intrigued. Thru various interpreters they had a interesting dialogue and Dad was invited back to their home for lunch. He went. He spent the rest of the day with them. They are a colorful people and I mean that in the nicest of ways. Their home was bright and cheerful and their mode of dress was the same. All of them were polite and he enjoyed the lunch and almost all of them came for lunch which were about 35 people.

So, Dad, being Dad invited them to Humboldt and issued a written invitation as they would need that to cross the border. Then he asked them if they would go to the school to talk to the children and explain where they came from, what they did for a living and their culture. They were delighted and thus we got the benefits of that conversation that began it all. That was a day trip but they came back several times. A couple of the men brought their huge guitars and none of us had ever seen that before and oh-how they could play them and sing and we were enthralled. I have had tremendous respect for Gypsies ever since.

Port-of-Entry: Emerson 1947

An image I found online for sale, of the Emerson port-of-entry, circa 1947

Locals would be waved through without stopping back then.  Even when I was growing up, they still did.

It's a different world now.  Technology has given and it hath taken away.  It has provided ways for very bad people to potentially do even worse things to innocent others.  In return it has given us countermeasures to fight against those ways.  In the meantime, we become prisoners of supposed safety...and there is less open and easy opportunities for neighborliness - at least of the frequent, in-person variety that deep and lasting bonds are made of.

Mike's Memories: Town Ball

After the First World War, Manitoba became a preferred destination for barnstorming  ball teams from the United States. All professionals, these American teams would roll through towns and villages throughout the province playing local amateur and semi-pro squads and often, the barnstormers got themselves whupped.

From:  Home Run

My earliest memories were going to baseball games on hot summer evenings. My home town of Humboldt, Minnesota had first rate baseball teams in the 1920s and 1930s. The entire town would follow the town ball team.

The early teams featured the Diamond brothers: Levi, Herb, and Ikey. Lomas Matthews was another legendary track star and baseball player who hailed from Humboldt. Happy Chandler, later to become the baseball commissioner and Senator from Kentucky played one summer for Humboldt.

Another early legendary player from the Humboldt team was Cal Farley who, like most of the other ball players on the 1910 team, was also interested in track and wrestling and went on to form Cal Farley's Boys Ranch in Texas. The U.S. Government honored him by printing a U.S. stamp named for him. The 1920 team also shows many of the players.

During the late 1940s and early 1950s, Humboldt had an excellent travelling team.

My Dad played first base and my Uncle Burton Turner was a pitcher. Burton's father, Ernest Turner, was a legendary pitcher. Many of the stories of early Humboldt baseball are well documented on this web site.

Who was the greatest player in Kittson County History? Some might say Ernie Turner, Happy Chandler, the Diamond boys, or Clarence Beck. [Note from Trish:  And don't forget Eli Gooselaw...] We don't have videos and it is impossible to compare players across generations. My candidate for player of the Millennium for the County is Humboldt's own native son, Scott Matthew.

Louis Riel Poem

Photo of Riel (1878)

It was from the border town of St. Vincent, Minnesota, that on December 26, 1878, Riel gazed longingly at his Manitoba homeland and composed the following lines.  Since he was still purging the five-year exile imposed on him in Ottawa in 1875, he could not enter Canada.  Filled with anger by the thought that a recent influx of English-speaking Protestant settlers was now controlling his province, he contemplates mounting an armed invasion of Canada which, with providential support, would liberate his people.  Riel condemns the actions of Lisgar and Dufferin, governors general, whose terms overlapped that of Canada's first prime minister, John A. Macdonald.

Minnesota, Which I Now Entered (1878)

Minnesota, which I now entered,
Filled my heart with longing
For my home strung along its border.
I fell, sighting two cities, a bliss,
St. Paul and Minneapolis,
For eight or nine parents settled there.
I am moved almost to tears
As the train slowly draws near.
But the train moves on and the engine
Takes me to Breckenridge, to Crookston;
Then to St. Vincent from where, happy,
I contemplate my beloved country,
My sweet.
Manitoba,
Enticing as a loved one's charms,
Now held in the Orangemen's strong arms:
Manitoba,
For whom I have toiled unceasingly,
Your countenance inebriates me.
As if subdued by sweet catawba,
I reel.  Like Solomon to Sheeba
I am beckoned irresistibly.
For your glory my love must avail
And, God willing, my efforts prevail.

I have just returned from the Northeast.
While I waited, punished in exile,
Through the machinations of a Beast
Your innocent hearts have been reviled.
I, God willing, with renewed vigor
Will find ways to crush this enemy.
Friends on the banks of the Missouri
Will, with conviction as their armor,
Fight the native people's righteous fight
And, with me, armed by justice's might,
Fly swiftly on a northerly breeze
To help our Metis brothers resist.
Passions and fierceness I will enlist
And to great injustice match great fury.
They will attack Portage la Prairie
And destroy that wicked place entirely.
The river Boyne will be a bloodbath,
Red Assiniboine its aftermath.
Lisgar and Dufferin have bequeathed
Ignominy. Their men's legacy
Is betrayal. With revenge unsheathed
The Blackfoot will make Winnipeg pay.
Do not falter, worthy countrymen.
Oppose the English.  Respect your name.
John A., no better than a madman,
Ottawa will lose at its own game.
Spirit, be guided by Providence.
Do not too hastily take offence.
God moves his finger in mysterious ways.
By prudence, not by passion, be swayed.
All intentions are as scattered dust
When they contradict the divine plan.
If God tells me:  "Till the land," I must.
Or: "Make yourself stronger," this I can.
Or: "You must die," His will must be done.
Thus perhaps I am not intended
To help my people gain their freedom.
Let not my people be held ransom.
Let them thrive, let them be defended.

From:  Selected Poetry of Louis Riel

New Book Features Local History

A recently published book has references to local area events and locations...

...the rough and ready type common to the frontier gathered at local drinking establishments with names worthy of dime novels - "Dutch George's" and "O'Lone's Red Saloon" in Winnipeg, and "The Robber's Roost", "Dead Layout", and "The Ragged Edge" in Pembina.¹

From: Frontier Farewell: The 1870s and the End of the Old West By Garrett Wilson

¹ - In 1862, McKenney sold the Royal to “Dutch George” Emmerling, a recent arrival by way of the United States. McKenney then built the store which would become the hub of today’s famous corner of Portage and Main. From: First 50 Years Of Hotels In Winnipeg

...Colourful George Emmerling from Bavaria, a.k.a. “Dutch George” operated a small goods store for the settlers in the area and built the first hotel in 1885 (McIntyre Building). From: Manitoba Historical Society

Troop Socials

A pass was regularly made out for a Non-Com and file to go to Pembina, Dakota, for the mail. Passes were also granted at intervals to exchange visits with the American troops in their new fort, which was built a mile south of the town and named Fort Pembina. Our fellows were well treated by the American soldiers and citizens, except by those who had fled from Fort Garry and were wintering in Pembina. Among these were Colonel Stutsman, Jimmy (McCarthy) from Cork¹ (a cranky little Irish-American) and Bob O'Lone². Stutsman and Jimmy resented the visits of the Volunteers to Pembina. Bob O'Lone a more genial character, and the United States Sheriff, John Lennon, a brother of the late Dennis Lennon, the well-known hotel proprietor in Winnipeg, were always ready to prevent interference with the Canadian soldiers. In December, 1870, Bob O'Lone was killed in a brawl at a half-breed dance on the Pembina River, and the redoubtable Jimmy from Cork suffered death the following summer in a fight with Indians.

Remembering Bobby Stewart

A "Bobby" moment in 1962 

The above photograph shows Bobby Stewart (age 18) - the lanky jockey from Kittson County, Minnesota - being presented with a winner's trophy by legendary jockey Eddie Arcaro, who was on a retirement tour at the time.  Who knew that Bobby would go on to win six riding titles, set five track records, and even ride in the (1969) Kentucky Derby?

Remembering Bobby: A brilliant career, a tragic end

In the photograph:  Winners' Circle, Saturday July 10, 2010, with paddock host Kirt Contois (right) following the Bobby Stewart Memorial Stakes are Bobby's brother Wayne (left), daughter Lori, son Lance and brother Garylle, all who live in the U.S. Garylle recollects the 1960's and 1970's when his brother (inset) lit up the toteboard with 724 wins and bagged a record six riding titles. Later, son Lance, a former U.S. Marine who now repairs X-ray equipment, talked about the demons that haunted his father after an ailing back ended his riding career in 1976. Bobby, he said, couldn't deal with "going from everything to being nothing" and in 1985, at the age of only 41, died from a police bullet after taking a gun to visit his estranged wife in Lake Bronson, Minnesota.

From the Assiniboia Downs website comes this tribute, written in anticipation of the race named in Bobby's honor:

He was the master of swagger, the Fargo Phantom, the reaper of records. He was, in short, a riding dynamo at the Downs in the 1960s and 1970s who's never been equalled. Bobby Stewart. Never in a hurry to get to the paddock to mount up ("C'mon, let's go!") but always in a hurry to cross the finish line first ("Way to go!"), he earned the leading jockey title six times (no other jockey has more than four) and set five track records. He even rode in the Kentucky Derby. Lanky frame, cherubic grin. "He had no peer," said ASD patriarch owner/trainer Bert Blake who had Bobby ride his horses every opportunity he got.

 

From the Red River Valley website on Bobby's family, a quote from Mike Rustad reminds us that "Former residents of Kittson County will remember that Glen Stewart's son got their start at the Kittson County Fairgrounds."  From humble beginnings can come much greater things!

NWMP Arrive in Fort Dufferin

North West Mounted Police trooper from 1870s
[Artist:  R.J. Marrion - Canadian War Museum]

Fort Dufferin was originally established in 1873 by the North West Mounted Police (later the Royal Canadian Mounted Police) - this site was also used by the International Boundary Commission in its mapping of the International Boundary in 1874.

That same year, men were recruited for important efforts even further west, but to get them there, they had to come down into the United States, then back up into Canada (direct travel not yet being practical due to obstacles such as the Canadian Shield...)  The article below chronicles their adventures 'getting there', coming through Fargo, then Fort Dufferin (the modern day Emerson area...)

[A thank you to Jake Rempel of Halbstadt, Manitoba...]

Heritage Highlights: International Incident

Manitoba's rudder (Marine Museum of Manitoba)


I recently discovered Bruce Cherney and his Heritage Highlights; it appears that Bruce, like myself, has a real passion for local history! Some of his older articles are available through the Manitoba Historical Society.

Below are excerpts from Cherney's excellent article Collision on the Red - published in two parts - that he recently posted on a near "international incident" which involved Pembina...

But for all the “huzzahs” in Moorhead with the steamboat finally underway, the mood turned to anxiety when the Manitoba was delayed at the border crossing at Pembina, North Dakota...The newspapermen said they were aware of the circumstances of the delay in Pembina and decried “those who regard monopoly as their right.”

The enforcement of the delay almost created an international incident with a top Washington official having to intervene.

The newspapermen said they were aware of the circumstances of the delay in Pembina and decried “those who regard monopoly as their right.”

In a May 4 letter to the Free Press, Colonel Charles Stephenson, the supervising custom inspector at Pembina, said he wanted to “state briefly the facts of the case.”

Stephenson wrote that when James Douglas, the agent of the Merchant’s International Steamboat Line aboard the Manitoba, attempted to get him to conduct the inspection, he was engaged elsewhere “and unable to attend the Manitoba on time.”

The inspector was under the impression that the Manitoba would proceed and be inspected on the steamboat’s return trip. “As this had been permitted during previous seasons to the boats of the Kittson line.”

According to Stephenson, a newly-hired custom official at Pembina was unaware of the practice and was overly zealous in conforming to the letter of the law at the urging of the former customs inspector who still resided in Pembina.

“As soon as Mr. (Jacob) Frankfield, the present customs officer at Pembina refused to pass the boat, Mr. Douglas telegraphed the fact to the Secretary of the Treasury at Washington, who replied referring the case to Colonel Stephenson at Galena ... A telegraph was sent to Stephenson at Galena, giving all the particulars.”

Stephenson sent Douglas the following telegram, “Ask collector at Pembina to permit steamer Manitoba to make trip and return to Moorhead. I will meet her there on the 8th inst. for inspection.”

While being temporarily held in Pembina...

...the passengers enjoyed the sights of the community, which included a drunken man brandishing a “repeater and firing shots at some unseen foe.” The drunk...who appeared to be somehow above the law — possibly a “deputy sheriff” — enthusiastically shook the hands of any Manitoba passenger he encountered.

The only known photograph of the
prairie warship captains, including
 the two who worked the Red River:
William Robinson (standing), and
Aaron Russell, John Segers, and
Jerry Weber (left to right, seated).

One passenger was heard by the writer to have expressed the opinion that if the man had behaved in such a manner in Canada, “the bobbies would nab him quicker than a wink.”

Fascinating trivia regarding the two steamboat captains featured in this story involving Pembina - river pilots/navigators that plied their trade and learned their craft on the Red River of the North:

- Captain Jerry Webber, was originally from Winnipeg but later operated out of the U.S., later gaining a measure of fame as one of the “old Red River navigators” hired by the British during the Nile Expedition of 1884-1885 to rescue General Charles “Chinese” Gordon under siege at Khartoum. Although the relief of the Sudanese city was unsuccessful and Gordon was killed by the Mahdi’s forces, the four Red River steamboat captains were praised by the British for their skill while ferrying supplies and troops on the Nile River in Egypt.

- Captain John Scribner Segers' career as an “old Red River navigator” was as colourful as Webber’s. He also took part in the Nile Expedition, and was the captain of the steamer Northcote (commanded by Webber in the early 1880s until Segers took over), which was ordered converted by General Sir Frederick Middleton into a gunboat. The steamboat participated in the May 9-12, 1885, Battle of Batoche during the North-West Rebellion, but was crippled by the Métis who used ferry cables to take it out of action.

I found an excellent book on the very subject Bruce writes about, called Prairie Warships: River Navigation in the North-West Rebellion, in a chapter called Hudson's Bay Workhorses: The Red River Regime. The chapter reads like a thriller - a frontier business thriller - no wonder men like James J. Hill (cutting his teeth and filling his pocketbook with money made on the river way before the railroads were built) and Norman Kittson made a killing - they had a lot of foresight, energy, and yes ruthlessness, necessary to not only see opportunity but to seize it, and they did!

Below is an excerpt from the book's colorful version of the collision, with some fascinating background on the two ship captains involved...

[Click on image to enlarge]

From Prairie Warships, by Gordon Errett Tolton

Profile: Major George Seton

Men's Barracks, Lower Fort Garry - Winter of 1857-1858

The Royal Canadian Rifle Regiment men's barracks as seen from the officer’s mess room window at Lower Fort Garry during the Winter of 1857-1858. Following incursions into Canadian territory by American troops, a company of this regiment was sent from Montreal in July 1857 via York Factory. It was at Fort Garry by early October and remained in garrison until 1861. Watercolour by Major George Seton the detachment's commander. (Library and Archives Canada, C-001066)

Seton was one of many military personnel that passed through our area during the 19th century. When researching him in response to a print I recently acquired, I came across a research project being done on his family line by a descendant of his, Nancy Anderson. She has kindly been corresponding with me and has shared a bit of information on Seton, which is hard to come by as you might suspect. Although Seton does surface peripherally in the historic record in several documents, it was mostly in records that mention him in passing - i.e., listing rank/position/location, or he participated in such and such event, etc.

On her website, she states:

...Seton [of the 93rd Highlanders and Royal Canadian Rifles] came to Lower Fort Garry (Red River) in advance of his troops and, in July 1857, met John Palliser of the Palliser Expedition there.

Blackfoot parfleche¹, around AD 1860
From the Canadian Plains, North America collection

She later wrote me with more specific information as regards the intersection of Major Seton with our area, stating:

...from The Palliser Expedition, an account of John Palliser's British North American Exploring Expedition 1857-1860, by Irene M. Spry comes this - "John Palliser and his men set out south, on horseback, from Upper Fort Garry [Winnipeg] to Pembina² Fort in the United States, along the banks of the Red River in July 1857. There was the usual scurry and bustle, swearing and shouting, attendant on a large party setting off from the fort...[I've omitted some description]...The civilized society in question included not only Mr. Swanston of the Hudson's Bay Company, who had received them so hospitably and helped them greatly with their preparations, but also Major Seton, who had come overland to Red River in advance of the troops then on their way from Canada by the Hudson's Bay route, and Mr. Johnson, the Recorder of Assiniboia..... These two gentlemen saw Palliser and his colleagues ten miles on their way next morning. Nine miles farther on, the explorers caught up with the slower carts, just as the men were pitching camp for the night..."

She also said, "The Hudson's Bay Archives information on Sixth Reg of Foot Records is on Reel 4M145, E.67/2-5. I haven't read it yet and don't know what's in it. Probably you can request it through your library or local archives...and there's a Beaver Magazine article, A Soldier at Fort Garry, by George F. G. Stanley, Autumn 1957 that talks about the troops coming to Fort Garry. They made Fort Garry (from Hudson's Bay) on Oct. 13, It says, 'One Major Seton of our Corps had been sent in advance via U.S. Route in order to see preparations made for our accommodation, and right nobly he had done it. Several of the large Stores Houses had been fitted up for the comfort and convenience of the men, and a Separate apartment for each married man.' I know that George Seton later formed part of the government of Assiniboia, but I can't remember what that government was called. That's about all on Seton [as regards our area...]"

¹ - Parfleches are rectangular rawhide containers that fold over like envelopes. They were used in the nineteenth century particularly for holding pemmican, ground dried buffalo meat mixed with fat and berries. This food was vital in the fur trade, where a high calorie diet was required by canoe men.

On the northern Plains, moccasin soles were sometimes made from sections of painted rawhide, re-used either from an older pair or from parfleches made as gifts.

This parfleche forms part of the earliest documented collection of material from the Canadian Plains in The British Museum. It was acquired from a soldier, Major George Seton (1819-1905). Seton was also an artist, trained in creating panoramas for military purposes. He served in the Royal Canadian Rifles from 1853-58, the last two years stationed at Fort Garry, Manitoba (Rupert's Land), at the behest of the Hudson's Bay Company who had requested protection from supposed American and native threats. At the end of his posting he participated in two expeditions, one British and one Canadian, sent out to report on the Canadian Plains. He collected this parfleche while on the British expedition, which reported that the plains of Saskatchewan and Alberta were suitable for farming.

J.C.H. King, First peoples, first contacts: (London, The British Museum Press, 1999)

From British Museum collection: North America (Room 26)

² - "...On 21 July the expedition started on its journey across the plains, heading south up Red River to the American boundary, where they made careful observations in conjunction with a chance-met American land surveyor, Charles W. Iddings. From Pembina (N. Dak.) the party travelled west via St Joseph’s (Walhalla)..." - From Dictionary of Canadian Biography entry on John Palliser. FYI - Charles W. Iddings was a surveyor living over the post office in St. Paul in 1856. He eventually became associated with Joseph S. Sewall of St. Paul, the engineer who built the Wabasha Street bridge. During this connection the two men published a map of Minnesota which is known as the Sewall and Iddings map of 1860.

Map from Muskets to Missiles: A Military History of Minnesota by Virginia Brainard Kunz

Lewthwaite's Drugstore

There are many places that are etched in my memory that will never leave me. They were imprinted there when I was a very little girl...those kinds of memories are the strongest there are. Today, I can forget where I put my keys or cell phone at a moment's notice, but these memories not only remain, but often come unbidden to the forefront of my mind.

But I don't mind at all, because they are like old friends. I enjoy revisiting them over and over. One group of such memories are those of place. And one of them, is of the Lewthwaite¹ Drugstore in Emerson...

One of the things I remember about the drugstore wasn't in the store itself but in the back behind it. The pharmacy was located on the corner of two streets. One side of the building butted up against its neighbor to the north (which I think was the Sawatzky Brothers grocery store), while the south side faced the adjacent street. Behind it to the east was the back yard with a high wall between it and the sidewalk. The druggist and his family lived over the store, so that was their private back yard. Despite the high wall, I could see they had something very intriguing to my young eyes - a tree house. And not just any tree house, but an amazing tree house. A tree house worthy of the Swizz Family Robinson. It was built up in the branches of an old large oak or elm tree.

¹ - (Origin Anglo-Saxon) From thwaite, a piece of ground cleared of wood, and lowe, a hill, law, a hill or eminence; in Saxon, Hlewe.

Ephemera: Promotion of Progress

The image above is from an envelope I have in my possession. It is in the upper left-hand corner representing the return address of Charles Johnson of Pembina. I haven't been able to find out much about Mr. Johnson, but do see him listed in the Pembina County Pioneer Daughters Collection of the Elwyn B. Robinson Department of Special Collections, Chester Fritz Library, at UND.

To me, it shows the ambition of not only Mr. Johnson, but the dreams of the communities he represents themselves. At the time of the late 19th/early 20th century, things were changing fast, and hopes were high...

Journeying from St. Vincent to Winnipeg

A pretty amusing and sometimes outright laugh-out-loud account of the 'thrilling' journey by steamboat from St. Vincent to Winnipeg...

For sake of saving your eyes, I have transcribed some of the article in an excerpt below, but also have attached a scan of the original article...

If the English statesmen who have been recently eulogizing the agricultural resources of Canada before the discontented farmers of Great Britain had ever visited the British Provinces here, so as to enabled to draw their conclusions from actual observation instead of deriving their impressions from the perusal of the rose-colored pictures presented in the publications of Canadian land agents, which are now being extensively circulated in Europe to influence emigration to Canada, there might have been a good deal more wisdom in some of the agricultural speeches lately delivered in England. If the most loyal Englishman had the privilege of being dragged along the bottom of the Red River of the North in a flat-bottomed boat for upward of 100 miles through the British possessions, as I have been on my way to Winnipeg, the capital of the Province of Manitoba, if his faith in the carrying capacity of the waters of a river which is represented as one of the principal outlets for Canadian products was not shaken, his nervous system would at least be badly shattered. The incessant jarring of the boat with the rocks or boulders along the bed of the river, the crawling pace at which it pursues its tortuous course, together with the delightful state of uncertainty in which you are placed as to whether it will take a day or a week to reach your destination - and uncertainty which the appearance of the stranded wreck of one of the Red River steamboats mingles with gloomy forebodings of shipwrecks and disasters - all this would have cooled down the fervor of the most enthusiastic Briton.

We left St. Vincent, which is situated on the boundary-line between the United States and Canada, at 6 o'clock in the afternoon by the steam-boat Minnesota, and did not reach Winnipeg until 1 o'clock the following day, although the distance along the river is not much over 100 miles. Owing to the uncertainty of navigation upon the Red River of the North, there is hardly any such thing as a regular time-table to govern the movements of the steam-boats running upon its muddy waters. If you happen to be in time at any of the regular places of landing you are taken on board. Should you find that the boat has started when you arrive, you can readily overtake it by walking at a brisk pace, and by holding up your finger - as you would hail the conductor of the Third-avenue car in New-York - the obliging Captain will accommodate you with a berth. At several points along the river I have seen a plank put out upon a mud bank to take up a passenger who signaled from the shore. The navigation of the river is a very difficult undertaking owing to the serpentine course which it pursues, and the almost total absence of any kind of landmark along the shores. During the whole of our journey from St. Vincent to Winnipeg we did not get a glimpse of the country through which we were passing, the bed of the river is so far below the surface of the broad prairies on either side, while the banks present such a never-ending sameness of thick brushwood, and the myriad bends, which are seldom more than 40 rods apart, appear so like each other, that, except where the rude hut of a half-breed Canadian here and there comes within view, there seems to be no means of distinguishing between any two points along the river. This difficulty is increased by the shallowness of the water. Although our flat-bottomed boat drew only 30 inches of water, it was scraping along the river bed nearly all the way.

Having arrived here by this route, of course you will return to St. Vincent by the Pembina branch of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, which is now in operation from this place to that station, where it connects with the St. Paul, Minneapolis, and Manitoba Railroad, in the hope of avoiding the vexatious delays of the Red River steam-boats. In this, however, you will be mistaken. The train leaves St. Boniface, which is on the outskirts of the town, at 4:30 A.M. You leave instructions with the hotel clerk to have you called up in time in the morning, and, although you may not have retired before 11 o'clock, you will be wakened up in all haste shortly before 1 o'clock, and informed that the omnibus is waiting to take you to the station. You naturally ask the conductor why he calls at the hotel fully three hours before the train starts, when 20 minutes would have been sufficient, and he replies, without the slightest concsciousness of any impropriety, that he happened to get up "a litte too early himself," and he though it better to call up his passengers also. After sitting about an hour in the omnibus occupying yourself with speculations as to the contents of the mail-bags from the Post Office piled in the centre, it is set in motion, but not to convey you to the depot. The conductor has first to call at all the other hotels, as well as at every private residence from which there is a passenger for the train; and as he halts in front of several houses in town you will hear the mistress given him positive orders to "wait an hour," that her husband would not get up yet awhile. Finally, all the passengers have been collected, and they are landed about 4 o'clock at St. Boniface, where, after sheltering themselves for three-quarters of an hour as best they can among the boxes on the platform or in the small frame building which forms the ticket office, waiting-room, and storehouse of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, the engine having been wooded up, the train starts at length, and you traverse a boundless waste of prairie land on your way to the American frontier. Such has been the experience of a gentleman who traveled recently from here to St. Vincent by the Canadian Pacific...

[Source: New York Times archives, original publishing date of October 20, 1879]